The Queen of Ennui

The Queen of Ennui gave birth

to a blue catastrophe today –

a bubbling-up of azure doom

for which her realm of vagaries

and lassitude and boredom

had no room. Alas, this infant

promise of cerulean atrocity

is floating free now toward

we don’t know whom.










.

When Ghosts Sit Down to Write

When ghosts sit down to write

it’s almost always in nostalgic search

of that delight of fleshly pleasure

which attends the pressure

dealt by hand-held pen

against a cool blank paper sheet.

We gather their epistolary style

is sharp and sweet,

their cursive writing neat,

their aptitude for wit and quip

one we’d find genuinely risible. Alas,

we’ll never know. The ink’s invisible.

.

If You Had Known a Thing About a Thing

You want your narrative to flow

and yet sustain the sort of kinky

shadowed jagged interest

of a secret pornographic fantasy –

the one you’d have to write and draw

because nobody else could know

your brands of stop and go and hot.

Everybody’s in an unrelated spot.

So here you sit among your friends

whose mute collective consciousness

now bends, now straightens out,

now sinks, now rises, now surprises

with a coalescence none of you quite

see or sense. But somehow it feels

right. If you had known a thing

about a thing, you’d think it might.





.

I Wonder if a Drawing Cries

What's in those

withholding eyes?
I wonder if

a drawing cries.

.

Some Things

Some things

you can’t

get through.

No matter

what you do.

.